**The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2011. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.**

Chapter Four: "Can we talk?"

**Warning: Slight bit of sexiness for those who require warning.

A/N at the end.

Chapter Songs:

**Tyrant – OneRepublic

**Only Girl – Rihanna

**For the First Time – The Script

Link to playlist on profile.

The atmosphere in the locker room after the game was the complete opposite of what it was beforehand. Players were arranged in a semi-circle, some standing against the lockers near the back of the room, others sitting on the benches. It still smelled like sweat and dirt, but no one spoke. No one smiled. It wasn't the attitude they normally had after a win, but apparently, this win was not one they were supposed to be proud of.

Jace sat at the front of the pack. The leader. The failure. He watched Coach pace back and forth in front of them, his hand on his chin and eyes to the ground. Jace knew better than anyone the things going through his father's mind. Winning by a single field goal was not enough for Michael Wayland, not when it was in a game against Valentine Morgenstern. He'd wanted to slaughter him, to show him just how much better he was, to rub the talents of his son and team in the man's face. But that wasn't what happened. Although the team did good enough to finally beat the Knights, there was no such thing as "good enough" in this case. There was only "best."

Sweat dripped from Jace's hair to his brow, following the slope of his nose until falling to the ground. He wanted to wipe his face in the worst way. The perspiration was starting to sting his skin, especially where he'd cut himself shaving that morning. But he knew any movement would draw his father's attention straight to him, and he preferred to keep that moment until they were out of earshot of his teammates.

Finally, his father stopped in the center of the room and drew in a breath. Jace dropped his gaze to his clasped hands. From the corner of his eye, he could see the glint of gold from the MVP trophy at his side. Hell. He should have put it in his locker, hidden it in his bag, something. Anything but have it out there as a reminder of what he'd been awarded when he didn't deserve it.

"What is it I ask for every time you step out onto that field?" Coach Wayland began. "Is it mediocrity? Is it to run around and have fun, doing whatever the hell you want?"

The room was silent, no one wanting to be the one to speak. The click of cleats against the tiled floor sounded every once and awhile, but no one dared to make an intentional noise. This was how it always was when Coach didn't get his way, when the team didn't play up to his "standards."

"No, I ask for obedience. I ask for perfection. For one-hundred and twenty percent every minute, every second your feet are on that field. Anything less and it's not worth the time or energy to be out there. I don't believe I have words to express how pathetic that was," he continued. "Just winning isn't enough. This was our chance to show what we're made of. But that . . . that was nothing more than luck. You were lucky. Plain and simple. There was no skill, no real display of the talents I know you possess. You were just out there, going through the motions. Some of you more than others."

Jace felt his father's gaze burn into the top of his head. And the worst part was, he was right. All night he'd been off, but after he'd seen the girl—Clary—touched her, he could think of nothing else. With just one peek at those wide green eyes, it was like a switch had been flipped and fragments of forgotten touches and sensations flooded his mind. His fingers remembered her skin, his lips knew her mouth, his body recognized the curve of hers, even though his brain couldn't put everything together into a coherent memory. It was the strangest sensation, staring into the eyes of a girl he didn't know, yet knew all at the same time.

His father continued on with his lecture, but Jace drowned the words out. He would hear them all again, probably with a bit more bite to it as usual. Fifteen minutes later, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Sebastian stood over him, his brow creased in concern.

"You coming?"

Jace knew he was talking about the victory party down at the river. It was a tradition for most game nights. Every once and awhile if someone's parents were away—like Sebastian's were that night a few weeks ago—they'd have the party at a house instead. At the river they had to be more careful with the alcohol and hooking up, but within the privacy of four walls, anything went, as Jace found out.

He let out a breath and stood, pulling his jersey and shoulder pads off, stuffing them into his locker along with the MVP trophy. "I don't know. Not sure I'm in the mood." Jace stripped down to his boxers and grabbed his towel and body wash from the top cubby.

"Or maybe you are in the mood, Sunshine, and that's the problem. You're so damn tense all the time. Maybe you need a good suck or fu—"

Jace slammed the locker door shut. "Don't start with that shit, Seb." He started toward the showers.

"Why not?" Sebastian trailed behind him. "I just don't get it, man. All these chicks are throwing themselves at you all the time and you just push them aside, like you don't even want it. You've gotta be sporting the worst case of blue balls in history—and the season's barely half over. Other than the dry hump setback a few weeks ago, I'm beginning to think you must be running with permanent wood. God, that's gotta be uncomfortable."

Obviously, Jace hadn't told Sebastian that the "dry hump" was not just a hump and certainly wasn't dry. It aggravated him that Sebastian wouldn't get off his ass about getting some, but regardless, he couldn't help but laugh. "You're a moron. Honestly, worry about your own dick. Your concern with mine is starting to scare me."

Sebastian shoved Jace into the wall. "You're an asshole. Fine. I'm through trying to help you see reason. But I know better than anyone how unsatisfying it gets when all you've got is a bottle of KY and a hand."

"Jesus, I do not want to hear this shit."

Jace turned the corner and entered the shower room. Luckily, in their school, the showers in the locker room were divided into cubicles, separated by half walls. It wasn't as private as a totally closed off shower with an actual door or curtain would be, but he wasn't complaining. Most just consisted of one big room with shower heads lined up on the wall. Not that Jace cared about showering in front of other people. He had nothing to be ashamed of, and guys just didn't look at other guys. It was eyes front all the time. That was guy code and everyone knew it. Even still, a little privacy went a long way.

Steam climbed the walls and filled the air with white mist. The sound of pounding water and laughter echoed in the small space. Sebastian followed Jace to the row of showers along the back wall. He slipped into his cubicle and Jace stepped into the one next to it.

"I just don't get it, dude," Sebastian called over the spray. "It's not natural, you know? You're supposed to be out chasing chicks and shit. That's what men do."

Jace didn't expect Sebastian to understand. Hell, sometimes he didn't understand himself. But he couldn't ignore the fact that the sharp focus on football is what made him as good as he was. When he lost that, as he had in today's game, his playing suffered. It wasn't a coincidence, it just was.

A lot of people would look at the relationship between him and his father and say Jace was just doing what his father wanted. But it was what he wanted too. He wanted the rush and glory and praise. He liked seeing his name in the papers, his number painted on signs that waved in the crowd. Out there on that field, he was a god. He wanted that feeling forever. And the only way he could get it was with his father's help.

Jace took his time in the shower, letting the hot water pour over him and wash his disappointment away. This game definitely hadn't turned out as planned, and he deserved whatever his father had to dish out. Once the shower room was almost empty, Jace turned off the water, dried quickly, and wrapped the towel around his waist, grabbing his dirty boxers and body wash on the way out. He dressed slowly, waiting for the majority of his teammates to exit the room before making his way back to his father's office.

Coach Wayland sat at a large metal desk, his eyes fixed on the game stats in front of him. He ran a hand through his dark hair, the same gesture Jace used often.

Jace cleared his throat, and his father looked up. Immediately, his eyes darkened, and he held out his hand. Jace bit back a sigh and reached into his bag, withdrawing the MVP trophy that was awarded to him after the game and handed it to his father.

Michael Wayland eyed the prize, his expression never changing. Jace wondered if he'd yell, or if it would be the silent treatment this time. He actually preferred the yelling, at least that way it was over and done with. Instead, his father traced his finger over the plaque containing the year and Jace's name on the base.

He didn't look up when he said, "Do you think you deserve this?"

Jace swallowed hard, not knowing how to respond. He kind of thought he did. He'd played hard, practiced hard, and when he was out on the field, he was the best. Wasn't that what his father wanted? For him to be the best?

Finally, his father looked up, and the hardness in his eyes was enough to let Jace know the answer he expected.

He pushed down the disappointment crawling up his throat. "No, sir."

"No." His father nodded in agreement, then paused. "Do you have anything to say for yourself? Any more excuses or blame passing you'd like to do now?"

"No, sir." Jace felt anger stir inside him, but it was no use. It never helped to speak up. Never made any difference, except to piss his father off more. So he pushed it back down, buried it underneath all the rest of the regret inside him.

"I didn't think so." His father drew his finger up over the base to the metal award on top. It almost looked to Jace like his father was admiring it, until he wrapped his hand around the little cup and twisted and bent until Jace heard a crack. His father held the broken prize out to him.

Jace took it back, the top portion hanging over the side and touching the back of his hand. Anger and confusion flooded over him, but really, why was he surprised?

"Take that trash and get out of my sight," his father said. "I don't want to see you until tomorrow morning; oh-six-hundred on the field, where you'd better be ready to show me you know how to follow instructions."

Jace drew in a breath and exited into the hall. There were no players left in the locker room, so no one saw him toss the twisted metal of his award in the trash before leaving. He forced himself not to think about it and to not dwell on the hell he was going to endure in the morning. Saturday morning workouts were common place during the season, leveling off to every other Saturday in the off-season. They were a day of intensive cardiac and leg-weight training. But with his instructions to meet him on the field, Jace knew what his father had in store. Throwing drills.

Jace sighed and rolled his sore shoulder as he pushed through the doors to the outside. His father knew as well as Jace did that his arm and shoulder needed a rest. But, apparently, he found Jace's lack of passing tonight a sign that he needed more work. It didn't matter that the Knight's defense was all over the place, cutting down almost every pass attempt Jace made. It just didn't matter. Jace was supposed to be better than that. Better than everyone.

The wind had picked up and blew chilly against Jace's wet hair. He stopped and pulled a black ball cap from his bag and pushed it on his head. The parking lot was relatively empty, only a few cars remained. Among them were his father's, his, and Sebastian's. Jace wondered why Seb was still there. He frowned and started to walk over, but stopped when he heard a high pitched laugh coming from the vicinity of Sebastian's vehicle. Jace grinned and shook his head. It was just like Sebastian to start the celebration before he even left the school.

Trying not to interrupt, Jace started toward the other side of the lot where his car was parked.

"Hey, Sunshine!" He heard Sebastian call.

Rolling his eyes, he turned. "You really want me to beat your ass, don't you?"

Sebastian pointed at him from his spot leaning up against his car door. "I'm gonna wear you down one of these days." He grinned, and the girl next to him stiffened.

"Doubtful," Jace said, and took a few steps backward. He really just wanted to get out of there. His father would be coming out soon, and he didn't want to be anywhere around when he did.

"Any chance you changed your mind and want to come? I've got plenty of room if you want to throw back a few." Sebastian patted the hood of his car.

Jace was about to answer with a firm "No" when Sebastian's friend made a soft choking sound. Involuntarily, Jace's eyes flitted to the girl, and it was then he really took her in. She stood only a few inches shorter than Sebastian and had long black hair and piercing dark eyes. She wore a black coat that reached her knees. Jace furrowed his brow and studied her for a moment. He recognized her, but for some reason he couldn't recall from where.

"Hey, don't I know you?" he asked.

The girl narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. The amount of loathing in her stare stunned Jace. "No."

But when she moved, the slit of her coat opened and Jace caught sight of a blue and gold uniform. Southeast's colors. Then it hit him. He remembered where he'd seen her before. He snapped his fingers. "No. I remember now. On the sideline tonight."

"Oh, you mean when you ran down half my squad and almost killed my best friend?"

Shit. So this was Mystery Girl's best friend.

"'Almost' being the operative word. Everyone was fine though, right?"

He actually really didn't care about everyone. But he was curious about his mystery girl. The way she'd looked at him, as if she wasn't quite sure she knew what she was looking at, had nagged at him for the rest of the game. She seemed shocked. Like she wasn't expecting to see him there either. He wondered if maybe, just maybe, she'd been as drunk as he was that night. God, if he could only remember.

The dark-haired girl stared at him, her eyes boring into him like she was trying to set him on fire. An unsettling chill swept over him. The way this girl glared at him, the way she seemed to ooze hate, told him one thing was absolutely certain: this wasn't just about what happened on the sideline—she knew about that night. What the hell had he done to earn that look? He swallowed, hard, praying this girl kept her mouth shut in front of Sebastian.

She narrowed her eyes even further at him, then whipped her head toward Sebastian, ignoring Jace's question completely. "I gotta go."

"Hey, now, wait a second, Iz. Why don't you come out to the river?"

"Iz" raised a brow at Sebastian. "To attend your celebratory rave over beating my team? I don't think so."

"Aw, come on. Free booze." Sebastian flashed a flirtatious smile, and Jace held back another eye roll. Pathetic ass.

The girl flashed a glare at Jace. "You going?"

Jace blinked in surprise. "I wasn't planning on it."

His answer seemed to lighten her mood and she turned back to Sebastian. "I'll think about it." With one more glare at Jace, she was gone, walking to the opposite end of the parking lot.

Sebastian whistled. "Damn, dude. What'd you do to get Izzy in such a tizzy?"

"Well, besides nearly killing her best friend? I have no idea." It wasn't exactly a lie. He really didn't know for sure what he'd done. As far as he could tell, what happened that night was mutual. She didn't have any right to hate him for that. Her friend was just as much to blame.

Sebastian pushed off from the side of the car. "So, you sure you don't want to come?"

Jace thought about it. He really didn't want to go home, but he didn't want to go to the party either. He just wasn't in the mood to act happy right now. Besides, if he hurried, he could quarantine himself upstairs before his father got home. As long as he wasn't anywhere in sight, his father wouldn't trouble himself with another lecture tonight, too busy going over the game to bother.

"Nah. I'm just gonna go home."

"Come on, Sunshine. We beat those bastards tonight, even though they played like dirty whores. Come celebrate."

Jace shook his head. "Not tonight, Seb. I'll see you later."

Without another word, he walked the last few steps to his car, climbed in, and started out of the school parking lot. His mind was so jumbled. Between his father and his mystery girl, he couldn't seem to focus. He knew he should be thinking about the game, about all the ways he'd screwed it up because his father would ask him to detail it tomorrow. But he couldn't stop his thoughts from turning to the girl. Her wide green eyes, and the surprise and fear behind them when she'd met his. How small and fragile she'd felt under his hands. Jace let out a huff of breath and shook his head.

She was not at all what he'd expected. Girls like Kaelie were more his type. Tall, thin, curvy, kind of slutty. He wasn't proud of it, but he couldn't help what he was attracted to. This girl was none of those things. She was short, very short, and very tiny. Jace had actually had to look down to see her. Her body was thin, but it had almost no curves, and she was practically flat-chested. Her face was cute, but plain and covered in freckles. He just couldn't figure out what it was that had attracted him to her in the first place, let alone what had turned him on so much he'd nailed her against the door—during the season. Which he wouldn't even do with Kaelie. It just didn't make sense.

In an effort to make himself stop thinking about it, Jace turned on the radio. He flipped through several stations before finding one that didn't seem too bad. He drove through the streets on auto, not really paying attention to the things around him beyond turning and stopping at the appropriate intersections. After a few minutes, a song started that immediately had Jace reaching for the dial. It was some of that dance shit that Jace couldn't stand. But as soon as his finger touched the radio, the first verse of lyrics started and a picture materialized in his mind.

It was her. Long, red curls flowing down her back. Head thrown back, laughing. The sound bounced around in his head, and he blinked against the image, but it didn't leave. It grew. Pieces fitting themselves together and creating more than a single picture, but instead a reel of them.

"We did a dance routine to this song a few weeks ago at a pep rally." The girl took another chug of whatever she was drinking from the red plastic cup in her hand. Her big, green eyes peered over the rim at him. They were the only things he could see besides the abundance of soft, flaming curls framing her face.

"I don't believe you," Jace said.

Her brows rose in challenge, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol she'd drunk. She was cute in feisty yet innocent way sort of way. "What? Why not?"

"Because there's no way they'd let you."

"And why is that?"

"Seriously? The lyrics aren't exactly appropriate for school."

She huffed, the anger in her eyes making the green darken, and Jace's smile widen. "I can prove it, you know."

Jace shook his head, trying to clear it so he could drive. But the memory just kept coming and coming, blurring together like the lights lining the road.

"So go ahead then." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I think I need to see this to believe it."

"What? Here?"

He shrugged. "Why not? Afraid your lie is going to bite you in the ass?"

"No!" She narrowed her eyes, her face flaring bright red. "I'm scared one of these douchebags you call your friends will see it as an open invitation to grab my ass."

Jace leaned forward and brushed his thumb over her cheek. Her skin was soft and bore very little makeup. "I won't let anyone grab your ass, baby. Now show me what kind of moves you've got."

The girl glared at him for a few moments before she shoved her drink into his hand, stood—well, more like stumbled— to her feet and peeled the green shirt off her body, leaving herself clad in only a skintight tummy shirt, short, black skirt, and calf-high boots. She didn't have a whole lot of curves, but when she started to move, twisting her body in ways Jace wouldn't have imagined her being able to do, the only thing he could think was: damn.

Jace tipped his cup to his lips, needing to coat his dry mouth and finding it only containing a few drops. He tossed it to the floor and downed hers instead, hissing as the liquid burned his throat. Shit, that was some hard stuff.

The girl continued to move. Eyes closed. Hands tracing her body. Fingers in her hair. Hips swiveling. Ass gyrating. And Jace continued to watch.

Damn. It was getting hot in there. And if he wasn't mistaken, the room was swaying with her.

Jace fidgeted in his seat. The girl didn't notice anything around her; she was the music and it was her. Her body knew it, felt it, and he wanted to feel it too. His fingers tingled with the urge to touch. Suddenly, the girl stumbled and fell into him. He caught her around the waist, their faces only inches apart, his palms cupping the bare skin of her sides. She laughed, the sound filling his mind with thoughts and feelings he really shouldn't have. His whole body tensed. He went to push her back up, but her fingers closed over his shoulders and she slid into his lap, her legs straddling his hips.

Jace stared up at her. "I don't think this was part of your routine." He noticed the roughness of his voice and realized the danger, but the warning bells were so diluted with alcohol he just didn't care anymore.

"I'm improvising." The girl leaned in. "This is what they teach us to do if we mess up. Don't act like it was an accident. Smile. And keep going."

And her hips started to move again. Slowly, achingly over him, but not touching. She held herself just above where he wanted her, where he was uncomfortably aching for her, and twisted and swiveled, making him absolutely insane. But he held himself back, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips, only a small semblance of his vow alive and holding on in his mind. Then her hands slid over his shoulders and down his arms, her hot breath flowing over his ear, singing the lyrics and searing them into his brain.

"'Want you to take me like a thief in the night. Hold me like a pillow, make me feel right.'"

A shudder worked its way through Jace's body, and he felt his fingers twitch with the desire to do just that, but he kept them locked right where they were.

Her mouth touched the shell of his ear. Purposefully or not, it really didn't matter. "'And when you enter, you ain't leavin', be my prisoner for the night.'"

Jace didn't know whether it was the words she sang or the way her body moved above his, but his control snapped. His grip tightened and he pulled her down onto him, his breath leaving him in a groan when her body finally pressed against his. Shit. So good.

She let out a small gasp, but didn't try to push away. And Jace was so damn glad he nearly cried out in relief. Her heat soaked into him at every point they touched, her chest heaving against his and fingers gripping at his shoulders. He didn't understand what this was, why he suddenly needed this girl so much it physically hurt. It was wrong, so god-damn wrong. But he didn't care. He turned his face toward hers, his scruff scratching along her soft cheek. Her breath puffed hot and quick against his face and he wanted to taste it. His restraint completely gone now, his hand slipped up her body and into her hair, fisting it and pulling her mouth to his.

A horn blared, and Jace realized he'd been stopped at a red light that was now green. "Shit." He gripped the wheel tight and pressed down on the gas, pulling over and stopping the first chance he got. "What the hell was that?" Jace could still feel the sensation of her pressing against him, of her breath in his ear, on his face, her mouth molded over his. The vision had ended there, but it had been enough to make his body flame.

Jace stared out at the street in front of him, watching the traffic move past. He thrust his hand into his hair, noticing the slight tremble as he pulled at the locks. The girl in that vision was so different from the one he'd met tonight. She was bold, funny, sexy. There was no fear in her face as she'd moved over him, but tonight . . . tonight he didn't see a trace of that girl at all. Which one was the real one?

He needed to know. It was irrational and stupid, and if he knew what was good for him, he'd just let it be. But there was something about her that night. Something that made him lose control of himself in a way he never had before. He needed to know what it was, how she'd done it, and knew the perfect way to find out.

Against everything inside him that screamed for him not to be such an idiotic ass, Jace reached into his pocket and fumbled for his phone. He let out a slow breath as it rang and rang, his anxiety peaking the longer his call remained unanswered. Just before Jace was ready to hang up, a voice answered on the other side.

"Seb?" Jace said. "I need a favor. You know that girl you were with tonight?"

.o.O.o.

"Iz, I don't think this was a very good idea." Clary let her gaze flit over the surrounding area. Dozens of bodies gathered around a giant bonfire built next to the bank of the river, but among those bodies, she didn't recognize a single one. She did, however, recognize the maroon and gold colors being worn by just about everyone there.

This was Northwest's victory party.

After the rather . . . unpleasant . . . ride home from the game, when Isabelle had called with a proposition that would get her out of the house, Clary couldn't resist the invite. As much fun as it was to annoy her father on most occasions, tonight wasn't one of them. Plus, considering the crap day she'd already had, she just wasn't up to it. But this, being here of all places, was not even close to what she wanted to be doing.

"Why not?" Isabelle bent to fill her glass at the keg. "It's just a party. It'll be fun! Besides, you can pretend it's your birthday celebration."

"You know why!" Clary jerked her friend toward her by the arm and whispered in her ear. "He could be here." Her eyes lingered over the nearest people, searching for the face she now knew.

Isabelle shook her head and took a drink from her cup. "He's not coming."

"How do you know?"

"Because he told me." Isabelle shrugged.

"What? You talked to him?" Clary whisper-shouted. "How? When?"

"In the parking lot after the game." She pulled Clary toward the outer circle of the gathering, near the tree line. "I was talking with Sebastian—you know, the brother of my brother's boyfriend's cousin's girlfriend?"

Clary shook her head, really not caring about the brother of her brother's . . . whatever.

Isabelle waved her hand in front of her face. "Nevermind. Anyway, I was talking to Sebastian—who plays offensive line for Northwest—and he—Jace—came out of the locker room. Seb asked him if he was coming and he said no."

"And?"

Isabelle took another drink. "And what?"

Clary narrowed her eyes. "Don't 'and what?' me, what did you say to him?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on Izzy, don't BS me right now. I know you."

"I honestly have no clue what you're talking about."

Clary blew out a breath, but it did nothing to loosen the tightness in her chest. "You have done nothing for the past three weeks except talk about what you were going to do to him when we found out who he was. You saw him, so now I want to know what you did."

"You know, I should be insulted right now."

"Izzy!"

"Fine!" She held her hands up in surrender. "Fine. I didn't say or do anything—besides giving him my patented death glare. Which," she smoothed her hands over her skirt, "didn't appear to work on him."

Clary felt her anxiety abate just a little. "Really? You promise you didn't say anything?"

"Yeah. I promise." Isabelle lowered her voice. "Look, Clary. When it was just him taking your virginity while you were drunk, it was one thing. But now. Well, now that you're . . . you know . . . I can't really find it in myself to bitch him out. I mean, it's going to suck enough when you tell him—"

"Whoa, what?" Clary nearly shouted, then quieted herself. "What do you mean 'tell him'? I'm not telling him!"

Isabelle stared at her as if she'd grown a huge zit in the middle of her forehead. "Clary, you have to tell him."

Clary shook her head and backed away, closer to the trees. "I don't have to do anything."

"So, let me get this straight." Isabelle furrowed her brow. "You're going to have this guy's kid and not even tell him? You can't keep this a secret, Clary. That's not fair to either of you!"

"Fair, Isabelle? Honestly? You're going to lecture me on fair?"

"I'm not trying to lecture you at all. I'm just—you're not going to be able to keep this a secret for long, and he deserves to know that he's got a kid out there. And you deserve to not do this alone! You weren't alone that night!"

Clary turned toward the wooded area and stared into the darkness. "I don't know what I'm going to do," she said. Part of her knew Isabelle was right, that it wasn't "fair" to not tell Jace, but another part questioned if he would even care. "How am I supposed to tell him? I don't even know him, Izzy. But from the things my dad and brother say about him, he's a serious asshole. I mean, how's he going to respond to me telling him this? Call me a liar? A whore? He doesn't know me anymore than I know him, so he'd be entitled."

Isabelle opened her mouth to probably chew Clary out some more, when her eyes shifted to the area just over Clary's shoulder. "Sebastian you little bastard," she said under her breath.

"What?" Clary went to look behind her, but Isabelle grabbed her shoulders and made her unable to move.

"Okay, don't freak out."

Saying that pretty much had the exact opposite effect on the amount Clary freaked. "You can't tell me not to freak out and expect me to not freak out! What the hell's going on?"

"Remember how I said he wasn't coming?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Well, apparently, he changed his mind."

Clary's eyes widened and she felt all the heat drain from her face. What? He was there? No. She wasn't ready yet! She didn't know what to say or how to even look at him.

Isabelle's hands slipped from Clary's shoulders and she straightened to full height. "He's looking over here," she whispered. "And, sweet baby Jesus, girl, that boy is fine!"

"Izzy!" Clary's heart knocked against her ribs. "What do I do?" Her voice was raspy and urgent.

"Well, first, turn around." Isabelle grabbed Clary by the arms and twisted her back toward the parking lot.

Her breath caught. He was there, and he was coming toward her.

Isabelle leaned in and whispered, "I'm gonna be just over by the bonfire, beating the snot out of Sebastian."

It only took a second for Isabelle's words to register. "What? Izzy! No. You can't leave me!" She grabbed at Isabelle's arms but she slipped through Clary's fingers.

Isabelle looked at her, and the regret was plain in her eyes. "I can't do this for you, Clary." She shook her head. "I'm sorry." And then she backed away, leaving Clary at the edge of the wooded area, alone.

Suddenly, Clary felt very set up. Closing her eyes, she took in a steadying breath before opening them again. And when she did, he was standing right in front of her, a perfect picture of light and dark. He wore a black long-sleeved shirt pushed up to his elbows, his hands were thrust into the pockets of dark jeans, and light sprigs of hair curled up over the rim of a black baseball cap he had backwards on his head. The light from the fire sparked in his eyes, making the gold flicker just like the flame. Clary took in his face, and it was a very, very nice face. A very pretty face.

She swallowed, hard, her tongue feeling like it was three sizes too big in her mouth. She didn't know what to say. What the hell was she supposed to say to this boy who she'd had sex with but didn't remember and was now knocked up by?

He beat her to the opening line anyway.

"So, I'm thinking the proper thing to do would be to introduce myself."

God, his voice. It wrapped around her like silk, evoking fragments of memories and feelings she didn't know she had. She was hot and cold, scared and excited. She had no idea what to do, to feel, to say, but she didn't want to continue to stand there looking like an idiot either.

"Well, that is the logical first step, so it makes sense," she said.

His mouth twitched, and one corner pulled up into a grin. Clary's legs felt like Jell-O. She sincerely hoped they'd hold strong and not decide to just drop her on her ass in front of him. Not that this situation could get much more mortifying, but still.

He held out his hand. "Jace Wayland."

Clary stared at it, and flashes of how those hands felt flooded her mind. Slowly, she reached out and slipped hers in his. His fingers tightened, and his palm swallowed hers. He was so warm. Clary fought against the chill threatening to zip up her spine.

"Clary Morgenstern."

"I would say it's nice to meet you," Jace said, letting her hand slide from his. "But that seems like a pretty ridiculous thing to say at this point."

In spite of herself, Clary giggled. Giggled? God.

"Yeah, I guess it is," she said. "Though, I don't really remember a proper introduction last time, so it's probably an okay sentiment."

A strange look crossed his face, a mix of relief and disappointment. "So, you don't remember either?"

Clary slowly shook her head. "No . . . I mean, not much." She bit her lip and held his eyes. "Enough to . . . you know . . . get the gist, though."

He studied her for a moment before his mouth twisted into that smirk again, and Clary's legs wobbled. Damn it. Why did he have to unleash that thing?

"The gist, yes, that sounds about right," he said.

Clary took in a breath and let it out slowly. This had to be the weirdest experience of her life. Here she was, standing in front of the one person she'd done the most intimate thing in the world with, and she didn't know a thing about him. Not his age, his favorite color, what kind of music or television shows he liked. Up until a couple of hours ago, she didn't even know his name. But she did know one thing about him that no one else in the world knew—not even him.

He was going to be a father.

Her stomach clenched, and a twinge of nausea rolled over her. A small squeak escaped from her lips, and Clary cleared her throat in an attempt to cover the sound.

Jace seemed not to notice and glanced toward the crowd. He raised his hand to his head, slipped his hat off, and ran his hand through his hair. Clary itched to touch it too. She could almost feel it sliding through and curling around her fingers. She wondered if it was as soft as her memory told her it was.

"Listen," he said, looking back at her and replacing the cap. Clary couldn't decide whether to be happy or sad about that. She loved his hair, but there was just something about a guy in a backwards cap too. "Do you think we could go somewhere and . . . talk?"

Clary raised her brows, surprised. She shot a glance to where she'd last seen Isabelle. She was there, her eyes flickering over to Clary as she twisted her fist in a dark-haired boy's shirt and wore her bitch face.

With a deep breath, Clary looked back at Jace. He watched her with uncertainty, with nervousness. This wasn't what she'd expected from the stories she'd heard from her father and brother. She'd expected someone different, someone cocky and unshakable. Her brother had talked of how Jace was on the field, how even when he was just a freshman playing on Varsity, he always looked like he thought he owned that field. But what she saw right now wasn't any of that. She wondered how much of what he was on the field was real and how much was show.

Isabelle's words came back to her. You have to tell him, Clary.Fear gripped her heart in its cold, hard fist. What was she going to say to him? She couldn't just blurt it out like: You know that night where we did it against a door? Well, congratulations, because you have excellent aim, Daddy! God, she couldn't think straight, but she knew Isabelle was right. Sooner or later, she would have to tell him. When, was the winning question though.

Slowly, she nodded.

Jace's stance loosened just a little. "Okay." He stretched his hand toward the trees. "There's a bench on the other side. We should be alone there."

Clary blinked and wondered if this was a good idea. The last time she'd been alone with him, well, she may not remember the details, but the evidence of what went on was pretty indisputable. But for this conversation, she figured "alone" was the best way for them to be. The things they had to say, the things she had to tell him, were not for others to hear.

Nervously, she caught Jace's eye, nodded again, and allowed him to lead her into the dark.

Who wants to junk punch Jace's father with me? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

As much as you may hate me for ending it there, I really believe you'd hate me more if I ended it after the next section (you will probably STILL hate me after you read it). ;) Also, this convo is better coming from Jace's POV. (trust me, I'd originally continued it in Clary's—Jace's is much, MUCH better!)

Plus, I gave you a sneak peek of the sexy, so that should appease you a LITTLE anyway.

To those who were asking, Jace and Clary DO NOT remember everything that happened that night, nor will they ever. You will see pieces of it that each of them recall here and there, but there will never be a full scene and you will never have all the answers. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it happened, and since I only write what they know, I can't give you that scene. :(

Oh, and just because my beta asked this question (and maybe some of you might have wondered the same thing) the game they just played was not a league game. It was more like an exhibition-style game in their city only. We played a game like this back in my hometown against one of the area schools every year. It didn't count toward our league standings and there was a trophy awarded to the winning team. The MVP trophy Jace received (even though he and his dad both swear he played like crap...) was for that game only. Hope that makes sense.

Lots of love and thanks to LLWB for beta-ing, again. She rocks my socks.

Until next time. XOXO ~ddpjclaf